Alone in the Dark
by Snowfilly
Summary: They worked so closely together, faced so much. That friendship went deeper turned into love. Mickey, Meadows and memories of one night were they shared that love that comes from having no one else. Spoilers for nonUK. Complete.
1. 1

Alone In The Dark

None of these characters are mine; nor am I making money from using them.

Every beat of my heart tears us farther apart;  
I'm lost and alone in the dark.  
Rod Stewart, Every Beat of My Heart

Is it so suprising that he taught me to love? He taught me how to be a good copper, how to cope with pain and grief. I held him one night in my arms, pushing a bandage against a wound in his ribs that wouldn't stop bleeding. Once you've saved a man's life, nothing can be more intimate.

He taught me how to laugh, both at jokes and at all the misfortunes that came my way. He showed me what it is to be a friend, one who is there at work when another case comes to a dead end, at night when you've got a woman problem and at home when you've got 'flu and can't go out shopping. And I like to think that I showed him complete trust and loyalty.

Together, we survived Beech and Chandler. I killed Chandler with my actions, and yet he was willing to say that it wasn't my fualt, to take the blame as his.

Yes, he saved me a lot of grief, my friend and colleague did. My lover, too, because love was one of the things that he taught me. And out of everything that he's ever showed me, I value that the most. The teaching that giving comfort in that most intimate of ways is neither sinful nor immoral, regardless of gender or relationship.

Both of us men; both men who had loved and lost women through fire and arguements, men who already loved each other for loyalty and courage over the years. Two wounded men that night, who, I think, needed love in the physical sense to remain whole.

We were both drunk, out of it, but he taught me regardless. Gently, kindly, with soft words and kisses. He held me when the tears came in memory of the woman I'd lost - weeping was another thing that he showed me and I accepted. Long before that night, he knew my griefs and I knew his. He is the only man who has ever seen me cry.

The memories of that one night, two years ago, are dim now. Lost in pain and time and loss. Without him, without what he showed me that night, I doubt that I would have ever survived now without him. He was always the stronger of us. Not physically but in his mind. A survivor. Perhaps more than his teachings, I value that in him. I know he'll come back.

That one night did not dimish our friendship, ever, nor the way in which we worked together - sometimes in accord, sometimes arguing. It just gave him one more reason to tease me in that endearing way of his,  
tell me that I was innocent and had no experience of the world.

What did he teach me after that night? A lot, things always underscored in my memory by his blue eyes flashing with humour. To express my feelings aloud. How to play Cheat. Never to wear a new watch while changing the oil in the car. He taught me that he was and is my truest, closest friend, including the dog. My mentor, my teacher, my best mate.

God help me, Mickey, please finish your MIT work and come back to me. 


	2. 2

Alone In The Dark

Disclaimer - The song mentioned belongs to Red Hot Chilli Peppers

Dedication - To a special teacher, who, when I was lonely, took me in his arms and held me even when I tried to hit him.  
You saved me.

He saved my life, he did. When I was so lonely, so broken that I was the only person I knew, when I cried myself to sleep at night, he found me - and he loved me.

To understand me, I'd always thought you'd have to have had a childhood like mine. To know the sound of your mum crying, your dad roaring and yelling, that terifying silence when you're laying upatairs and you hope to God he hasn't killed her.  
And when he hits you, you stop believing in God and you're alone, alone in the world and you hurt.

I'm alone, always have been except for those few years when I was with him. I'm alone again now, but if you can suffer in memory, you can love in memory as well.

I met Jack when I was 23. He came to Barton Street where I was working and I got conscripted into running errands for him,  
because I was new. I can't remember the actual work very well - it was just a strange job, one amongst so many others that were new. I remember that it was a fraud case, that he was there for about a fortnight and that he shook my hand in farewell; said 'See you again.'

When I was 25, I couldn't cope with Barton Street anymore. I put in for a transfer and I ended up with him. I remember that first day alright - a welcome warmer than I expected, because he recalled who I was - and then, him gently quizzing me about if I was okay or needed any help. How I needed help then - and he was the only one who saw that I did.

If you've never suffered from depression, you wouldn't understand it. The choking, grasping sadness. The coldness that starts in your soul and makes you shiver in July. The alcohol that burns in your throat and doesn't help except that it makes you so numb that you think you've died. And the tears that scorch your eyes and they can't fall because there are others around.

Do I know what caused it? The pain from those childhood injuries that never really went away, perhaps. That move away from my friends who didn't keep in touch. Beech fleeing, John dying. Kate - where does she come in? I liked her; I bedded her.  
She didn't stop the pain, nor hold me in the darkness to stop my tears. I didn't love her enough, nor trust her enough to tell her about it all.

It was well before Kate died that Jack found me weeping in the car park. I can't remember why - it was the depression more than anything. Darkness, helplessness, terror. All I got was a questioning look, but from then on I worked with him. I don't believe he thought I was a promotional candidate, not when Danny was cleverer and Eva smarter. I think he felt sorry for me - but what an actor he was. He never let me know why he asked to me to work with me; tried to make me think that he thought I had info on one of his cases.

I trust him - I trusted him completely and utterly after that first day in Barton Street, so I told him some of it. I learnt a lot from him, procedure and man-management, and ways to kick back after work. He understood that I laughed and joked and answered back because it was that or break. He encouraged me to challenge him, laugh with him. He became a friend.

He was there after the fire. When I heard, my first thought was for him, not Kate who I was going out with. He was unobtrusively there after the funeral and when I broke down and fled and he come looking for me, I think it was then that I came to love this man who repaid my loyalty with care.

But that darkness is just as intense if you love someone because they don't walk it with you. That knowledge of walking a knife-edge with death on one side, and knowing that you wouldn't really care if you fell down it - that knowledge is yours and yours alone.

He knows that he saved my life a few months later, just before Christmas, when I got knifed. Does he know that I hated him so much afterwards that I couldn't stand to be in the same room as him? I can't understand now how I could have hated some-one whom I love so much, but I wanted to die then and he made me live. I hated life so much; the warmth of my blood was better than the coldness of the depression that he pulled me back into, when he laid there and pressed a rag thing against my ribs.

I don't think that he knows that he saved my life again a few weeks later, when he ushered me into his office and held me in his arms. The first thing I did that day was to yell at him, then try to hit him. And he just stood there, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled my head down to his chest so that his heart thundered over the sound of my tears. You can't hate some-one who cares for you like that.

The darkness seemed less dark after that because he insisted on sharing it with me.

Chandler came after that; he died in front of us by his own hand after my actions. I threw up afterwards and Jack held me. Late that night, his defences fell and he cried while I sat with him. I told him all about my childhood that night - he told me about his divorce and about Rachel who had split up with him.

Kate died, Chandler died yet that depression was slipping away, bound up with my feelings for Jack. It was a month or so after Chandler had died that I lost control and got drunk, and he found me in a pub. He came and nearly dragged me out, his arm around my waist as he lifted me into the car. It was as natural as breathing to brush my lips against him,  
listen to his startled gasp and then kiss him when he dipped his head.

If I'd know he was drunk, I never would have gone home with him, I swear. I love him, I love him - and I think that night was near to Heaven, underscored by alcohol and his CD player belting out 'Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magick' as he pulled my shirt off - but if I'd known... I love him so much though.

We woke up early, rolled into work and never mentioned it again. That darkness that I'd shared with him so completely,  
vanished for a while and when, after Delaney, it come back, it was never as dark again. And my friendship with him never, ever altered except it become deeper.

The last clear memory I have of before Delaney is bound up with Jack. I tried to change the oil in my car at work, poured it all over my new watch and my shirt. He laughed and laughed, then gave me his jacket and told me to get changed.

His laughter, his love that was shown only by his care except for that one night, saved my life. I love him, I love him. One day, I guess I'll go back to Sun Hill. I don't know if he misses me like I miss him but I dream of him welcoming me back with a kiss. I don't know if he will - but I've suffered enough in memory to feel that I've got the right to love in memory as well.

I promise, Jack, I can't stay away from Sun Hill forever. The darkness is coming back, slowly, but I'll come back to you..One day. I love you, my saviour. 


	3. 3

Alone in the Dark 3

'What are you thinking about?' Phil asked me, and I lied to him. I wasn't thinking about Neil Manson, nor that sod Victor from NCS, nor even who might be corrupt. I was thinking about Mickey and the soft blue eyes that wouldn't meet mine any longer. Thinking about that night when we laid alongside each other, then leant foward and kissed in the dark.

He did come back to me. Sort of, anyway. When I saw him sitting in my office, I saw that the laughing young man I'd worked with for so long and loved, hadn't come back. It was some-one with his name and dress sense, or lack of, but with a coldness in his eyes and heart. What did I feel when I saw him there? Joy, because he'd come back. Felt a lot more than I'd care to admit really.

I knew he wouldn't greet me, because of the others being there. I even understand why he wouldn't come close, hug me - Delaney is still too recent for that. But a smile, or handshake - that wouldn't have been too much despite how careful he's been to avoid me ever since he left. I thought our friendship would have meant that much to him, at least. I hoped, for a second, that we would have sat and talked, laughed, about music and football and work; that we'd still be mates if not lovers.

What we got was a 'hello. How are you? Do you know that your DI's bent?' and us plunged into opposite sides of a murder enquiry, until it got to me thinking that maybe he was bent. I missed him when he left, and I miss him now, when he's gone again and won't meet my eye, but not like I did in those few hours that I believed him to be corrupt.

Because it was in those few hours that I realised that I don't love Mickey Webb anymore. The man he's become - suited, uppitty, a sergeant - loves his job and loathes himself. Everything else, like me, gets filed under 'unimportant.' He's changed so much that I can't see in him what was there before, and that's why I could see him as corrupt. I never really thought it, but I considered it, because of what he is now.

But he doesn't know that, because I had to go looking for evidence, just to prove that my best mate hadn't killed someone or something similar, and when his eyes met mine, I saw that he was innocent and that he didn't trust me anymore.

'How do you think that makes me feel?' Mickey asked me. I couldn't have answered that without crying for what I've done to him. I'm so, so sorry and I can't make him listen to me when he's left again. I don't think I've ever hurt him like that before - you don't hurt the ones you love, but I did.

I don't care about Manson. I wouldn't have cared if he had killed Jean and Cassidy. All I cared about was proving that Mickey wasn't corrupt, despite the fact I don't love him anymore. And because I cared so much, I made it worse. He thinks now that I've never trusted him, but I did, heart and soul from the day we met, and I still do. The difference is that he doesn't trust me now.

He trusted Liz; maybe that has something to do with it. His marriage plans upset me, even though we never pretended that we did anything apart from get smashed one night and end up in bed. I know, if he'd asked, I would have gone to the wedding, stood as best man if he'd wanted me to and wished him well. I would have hurt, and I guess he would have looked at me and remembered, but we would have survived. He loved Liz, I loved him, so I would have been glad to see him with her. But he trusted her, and look what she did. Maybe he thinks I'm the same.

How she could have done that to him is part of what I'm thinking as well, but I can't say that to Phil. I can forgive most things, but not what she's done to Mickey. Yes, Mickey, whatever MIT are calling him, because Mickey was the man I knew and if I remember him, then there's a chance he'll come back. I'm glad I arrested her; I'd be glad for Mickey's sake if she died inside, because she's hurt him so much.

I couldn't make him talk about it; he went silent like so many times before. But this time, he won't trust me to help him deal with it and I don't think he can make it on his own. I can't take watching him hurt, but because he's gone away, I'll have to imagine it and that will be worse.

I know he's brave. Far stronger than me; he's survived more than I've even seen, let alone known, and I admire him for that. And coming back - that must have been the bravest thing he's ever done, and I sodded it all up, so I think he's right to hate me now.

What am I thinking, then? That if you can ever forgive me for what I've just done to you, then you'll be a better person than I could be. That I love you, and I'm so sorry that I'll not see you again.

'Thinking about, Phil? Oh, nothing important.'


	4. 4

So, I come back. The hardest bloody thing I've ever done in my life was walking back into the CID office. Not going into Jack's room, not even meeting him again, but making my way through the general office, past all those people I'd worked with. Oddly, I wasn't worried about meeting Jack; it didn't keep me awake for nights beforehand.

How can I explain? He was a mentor to me; someone I trusted heart and soul. I would have - still would - died for him without hesitating. He's the man who saved my life and reminded me that I was still capable of feeling love; how could I not have looked forward to seeing him again?

I hid in his office that day because it was safe, because it was his and that's what he always meant to me - safety, protection, that sort of thing. And I thought that he'd still look after me, like he always had done in the past, despite whatever he thought about me having got engaged. Me coming storming back into his life and station like this.

But he didn't look after me, did he? He was there when Kate died, there when I'd been raped. All I've been through with him, he never once let me down. I needed him so badly in the last couple of days, needed him like I've never needed anything before, and I would have thought that Jack out of all the people I know, would have realised that. Either he realised and didn't care - so he doesn't love me or care for me like I thought he did - or he didn't realise, so he isn't as clever as I thought.

I never thought I'd be criticising him. He seriously thought that I was corrupt. Didn't it ever cross his mind that Beech wrecked my life, and that I spent months helping him get that bastard Chandler? Surely, he had to have seen how much I hat anyone that's bent. That he thought I was like that was worse than finding out about Liz.

Much worse really, because I'd known Jack longer, trusted him more deeply. Hell, Jack…I sat with him that night and told him what Delaney did to me, every single part of it. Stuff that I couldn't have admitted even to myself but could tell him. That's how much I trust him and his way of repaying me was thinking that I was bent.

Perhaps I should have told him about Lizzy and me. But, God, Jack…I couldn't do that. Not when I remembered that I'd slept with you once and I guess you loved me more than I realised. His face when he found out that Liz was my fiancée…Was he so quick to distrust me because he was angry with me? I think it was.

I never wanted Jack to get angry with me; I've spent my whole time at Sun Hill - and before that, at Dagenham - trying to impress him, make him proud of me. I thought he might have been impressed by me getting my own flat, a fiancée, by the fact that I was coping. Seems I was wrong and all he really wanted was for me to be back with you, or maybe out his life forever.

So, it's all over now. I'm sitting perched on the edge of his desk, looking at him staring up into my eyes. We've been here, silent almost, for the past twenty minutes or so. Correction, he's been sitting in silence, watching me bawl my eyes out over Liz. I had to give in and break down sometime; she was the woman I should have married and I loved her like I loved him. I had to come here. Right after I'd chucked the rings in the river, I run here, because I remembered it being safe in the past.

But this time, his version of looking after me consists of being quiet and sitting there, just watching. I can't say the words to him that I need to - 'Jack, I'm sorry for thinking that you were bent; Jack, hold me, take care of me.' This is what the closet, the best friendship of my life ended in - two people sitting in a room, only inches apart, with nothing to say to each other anymore.

We've doubted each other. I've let him down, tried to replace him. Too many incidents over the past few days, like me screaming 'you think I'm bent? How do you think that makes me feel?' at him, so loud that blood trickled in my throat. Too many little things and suddenly, there's nothing left between us. Nothing that I can feel, but then again, I've been crying so hard that all I can feel is pain in my eyes and my stomach muscles, so maybe I should have expected this numbness. But before now, he's always been able to make me feel plenty. Does he know that? I doubt it.

Eventually, one of us is going to have to speak. I don't want it to be me; I haven't got the breath anyway. What words can explain or excuse what I've done to this man? It's all my fault, everything that's happened between us for a long while has been my fault.

'Mickey?'

His blue eyes are boring into mine, so intently that he might be trying to read my mind. A few times in the past, when the depression was really bad, he was able to do that. Not since we met again, I must have changed too much for him to know me.

'Yeah?'

'It's okay. All alright.' He stands up, walks over and embraces me, so I'm left resting my head against his chest and as alone as I've ever been in my life, more distant from him than I would have believed possible.

I want to be with him more than anything else in the world.

I want nothing to do with him, and he feels the same about me.

I wish that my life had been different, so that I wasn't sat here, and I wouldn't want to change it, because I've got one last moment with him.


End file.
